


Stories From A Flat On Baker Street

by LunaIrenePond



Series: Stories From a Flat on Baker Street [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, FemJohn, Femlock, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Teenlock, bisexualjohn, tattoolock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaIrenePond/pseuds/LunaIrenePond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of one shots for BBC Sherlock, I leave a description at the beginning of each chapter so you know what you are getting into. I hope you enjoy it! Prompts are greatly loved!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Broken Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set right after a study in pink. The two of them start talking and such. Mostly it was an excuse for me to make them kiss early on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look... this is no longer G-rated... oops...

John stumbled into Baker Street with Sherlock around midnight, they were full on Chinese food and so tired from running around London they couldn’t walk straight. John collapsed on the sofa, once they had climbed all the stairs to their flat, trying very hard to remember the events of the night. “Sherlock,” John ran a hand through his own hair. “You said girlfriends weren’t really your area.”

“Good observation,” Sherlock smirked as he flopped into his chair by the fireplace. “You should also notice that I said I was married to my work.”

“Lots of people have affairs,” John said jokingly.

“They sure do,” Sherlock laughed as he walked to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”

“Yeah,” John said standing up and walking over to where the other man was standing.

Sherlock handed John what looked suspiciously like one of Mrs. Hudson’s mugs full of tea, “here.”

“Thanks,” he said taking a sip. “This is good.”

“Really?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You didn’t poison it did you?” 

The taller man laughed, “No. Why would I ever do that?”

“You did track down a killer and almost kill yourself today.”

“Well you shot him,” he smirked.

John was suddenly very aware of how close they were standing; Sherlock was leaning against the counter as John was leaning against the island across from him. “So is this going to be the norm?”

“Is what going to be the norm?”

“This,” John gestured to the two of them. “Are we going to go chase down murders just to come back to our flat and drink tea”

Sherlock looked at him with a questioning stare, “You sound disappointed.”

“I am not,” John said going into defense mode.

“Really?” Sherlock set his mug on the counter and took a step closer to the other man.

“Well maybe a little,” John admitted as he noted how well Sherlock’s shirt fit him across the chest.

Sherlock took John’s chin in his hand and tilted it up so he could look him in the eye. He then with one quick movement closed the distance between their lips. John dropped his mug in surprise, tea splashed everywhere. “Just leave it,” Sherlock mumbled into John’s mouth. “We can clean it up in the morning.” What followed was a night that John would never forget. They ended up in Sherlock’s bed, it was the bigger of the two and they were too lazy to go anywhere but down the hall. John laid down on his back and smiled as the younger man curled up into his side.

“Sherlock?” John muttered.

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Hudson is going to have a fit about that mug.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Yeah…” The two of them then slipped into the deepest sleep that John had had in years.

John woke up around two into the afternoon, he was surprised to find himself in Sherlock’s bed, the events of the night before slowly came back to him and he smiled stupidly to himself, he didn’t see how they could go back to any type of friendship after that. He sighed as he finally pulled himself out of bed and wondered down the hallway where he found Sherlock playing his violin with his back turned.

“Hello John,” he said without turning from the window.

“Morning,” John yawned rubbing his eyes.

“Mrs. Hudson came up around eleven and cleaned up the tea.”

“What did she say about it?” John asked as he leaned against the door frame.

“It’s coming out of our rent and that we can’t borrow anymore things from her.”

John chuckled, “I don’t blame her.”

“What are we going to do?” Sherlock asked as he turned to face John. There were a line of bruises that had formed on his neck and shoulder from the events of the night before, they disappeared under his shirt collar, and John couldn’t help but smirk.

“About what, last night?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Well we can act like nothing happened or,” John suggested walking up to the taller man. “We can always see what follows.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want that to have been nothing.” Sherlock smiled as he set his violin down and wrapped his arms around John’s waist.

John just smiled and buried his face into Sherlock’s shoulder, “Me neither.”


	2. Shooting the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would happen if Sherlock married Molly and they had a daughter named Joan with Sherlock's mentality. Or what happens when my friend and i role play for an hour.

Joan had a gun and was bored. So in traditional Holmes fashion, the wall got a beating. "Joan Emma Holmes, what the hell are you doing?!"

"Bored," she said lying on her bed with blue jeans and a sweet shirt on. "That's no reason to shoot the wall," said her mother grabbing the gun out of her hand.  
"Yes it is."

"No it isn't. Where the hell did you get that gun anyway?" her mother asked as she walked out to the kitchen to put it up, Joan followed her.

"Irrelevant," said Joan slumping into one of the kitchen chairs.

"No it is very relevant. I hid that thing years ago," then after a pause her mother added. "You're just like your father."

Joan jumped up, "Don't you dare bring my father into this!"

"Why shouldn't I?" shouted back her mother, "You grow more and more like your father every day. I'm beginning to think we should have names you Shirley."

Joan stormed off and slammed the door to her room.

"You come back out here young lady!" her mother stormed over and was banging on her door.

"No I am not coming out! You can shout and bang on the door all you want," was the response from inside.

"How about I open the door?"

"Shit," was the response as Joan ran to look her door.

"Watch your mouth young lady!" her mother had opened the door before Joan could get to it.

Joan crossed her arms and stormed off to her bed. "That's impossible, I cannot watch my mouth," she protested.

"Well you can wash it out with soap then," after her mother had calmed down a little she asked. "Why don't you like your father any way?"

"It's not that I don't like him, he just gets on my nerves allot," said Joan calming down slightly.

"He's your father and that's him job, and anyway he's gotten on people's nerves since he was born."

"Yeah, he can be quite an arse at times."

"Yeah, well we're family, we have to humor him," said her mother as she stood up," Speaking of which I think he's home."

"Speak of the devil and he will appear," Joan said rolling her eyes.

"Joan, watch your mouth!" snapped her mother, "Even if it is true."

"Yeah whatever… mother," Joan sneered and laid face down on her bed and sulked.

"Don't you dare use that tone of voice with me."

Joan motioned towards the door, "Get out."

"This isn't your house," said her mother standing in the doorway

"Get out!" Joan yelled pointing at the door.

"Fine," her mother pouted. "But you won't get any dinner."

Just as she shut the door Joan yelled, "Da! Mom's being mean to me again!"

"Molly, be nice to Joan. Joan, listen to your mother," was the response from down stars.

"Yeah mum," shouted Joan. "Listen to your husband."

"Joan stop being a smart ass," shouted Sherlock up to his daughter.

"I'm your daughter I can't just stop!"

"You're only half me, so you have the ability!" Molly was now trying very hard not to laugh.

"Yes but I don't feel like it!"

"Come on you are named after John, surely you can show some self-discipline."

"I don't care! That doesn't mean anything!"

"Does too!"

"Shut up!"

"Don't you dare tell your father to shut up," shouted Molly. "Go your room!"

"I am in my room!" Joan shouted back.

"Well then don't come out!"

"You know what?" shouted Joan as she stormed out of her room and down the stairs, "I am coming out!"

Molly stared at her dumb founded, "Why did you do that?"

"Because you told me not too, obviously," Joan said crossing her arms.

"Why do you have to be a Holmes?"

"Why did you marry a Holmes, if you didn't want a Holmes daughter?"

Because I was a stupid fangirl!" now it was Sherlock's turn to try not to laugh. "Now go to bed!"

"I'm not tired you go to bed!" said Joan sticking out her tongue.

"Joan listed to your mother," said Sherlock, rather failing to hold back a smile.

"Fine," said Joan storming off to her room. But not before she saw her mother take a playful swing at Sherlock.


	3. Words Will Always Hurt Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a rather angsty one, Sherlock self harms, it’s femlock and femjohn, and there is some johnlock at the end. Also if it helps any I imagined them in their 20s when I wrote this.

Joanna and Sherlock had been living together for over a year but it had never been anything but platonic. Much to, well, everyone’s, really, dismay. Joanna had just gotten back from a rather weird date; the man had had to run off with his friend after the first round of drinks. Joanna was certain the two of them were shagging. But in any case she had found herself back in the flat when she heard a sobbing sound come from the bathroom. She cautiously knocked on the door, “Sherlock, are you okay?”

“You should be on your date,” she noted from the other side.

“Yeah, well, he got preoccupied by his friend.”

She heard something between a laugh and a sob in response.

She then tried the door, which was locked. “Sherlock, could you open the door?”

“You’re not going to like what you fine,” she muttered.

“I don’t care, just please let me in.”

Sherlock reached up and undid the lock. What Joanna found was not a pretty sight. Sherlock was sitting on the cover to the toilet with blood running down both her arms, a razor in one hand, and her long black hair was covering most of her face but from what she could see it looked like it was streaked with tears. Joanna rushed up to her and grabbed her hand half to comfort her and half to take the blade away. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh sweetie what happened to you?”

“Life,” came the bitter laugh in response.

Joanna got up to get some bandages, “What did life do?”

Sherlock tilted her head and looked up at the other girl her hair fell back from her eyes, “It gave me this brain that I can do glorious things with but when I do all that happens is people run away. It then gave me you but it didn’t. Then it had to go even farther and give me assholes who just point out my failings at being human.”

Joanna had started to clean the cuts and once Sherlock fell silent she asked, “How do you mean?”

“Well you’re here and you care about me, but you are also always running off with some guy and I am left here,” Sherlock started sobbing again. “I know I am acting like a teenage girl but I want you Joanna.”

“Oh,” was all she could say as she looked up at the other girl’s face.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just, I’ll go to my room,” Sherlock stood up and stumbled out the other door and into her room.

Jane waited a few minutes before following her into the pitch black room. She started to talk towards the window on the opposite wall from where Sherlock was laying in her bed, “You know the first thing you told me was that you were married to your work?”

“I was, I didn’t know if you were going to stay or not.”

Joanna laughed, “You were buying me food. How could I say no to that?” her tone shifted as she turned around to look at Sherlock curled up in her bed practically holding onto her pillow for dear life. “Sher, I practically asked if you were single.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “You just started to date all those guys so I thought maybe I had deduced you wrong and you didn’t like girls after all.”

“Oh, Sher,” Joanna climbed into the bed next to her and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Hey, look at me. I thought you weren’t this thin.” 

“I’m fine,” Sherlock mumbled into Joanna’s coat.

“No you’re not, how much have you eaten today?” Joanna had gone into worried doctor mode.

“I don’t remember. I must have deleted it.”

“Never delete that. Do you understand? You have to eat.”

“I will,” she said right before she started to kiss the other girl. “Thank you,” she barely whispered into Joanna’s mouth.

“Any time,” she smiled back. “Sherlock,” she asked after a few minutes, “who were the people being jerks to you?”

“You know them.”

“Anderson and Donavan?”

“Aim for their noses.”

“Will do, love,” the next time the four of them ran into each other both Anderson and Donavan left with broken noses, Joanna left with a bruised hand, and Sherlock left with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a balletlock that i have to type up so that should be up tomorrow and apparently there are like two more over on ff.net i still need to post on this. Oh! there is also a drug addict john and sherlock au that is in the works, if you hear no more of it then it turned out like shit. Also there will be a second part to the greaserlock because the girlfriend asked... so yeah, see you soon.


	4. Ballet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a balletlock…. I’m not even sure… at this point my writer brain is throwing up and I can’t control it. Oh, and football is not American football in this case, its soccer and yeah juggling a soccer ball/football is a thing, I swear it is.

John and Mike were bored. Football season had ended so they had nothing to do in their free time, which was why Mrs. Stamford had sent the two of them to pick up Mike’s little sister, Olivia, from ballet. John and Mike were too cool to be hanging out at a ballet studio. What if someone from school saw them? They would never be able to live it down. In any case John brought his ball so that he could practice juggling while Mike was inside. At least he wasn’t going to be in the building. After about ten minutes a group of roughly twenty people came out of the old wooden double doors, Mike was with his sister who was talking to a rather tall black haired guy. “Your balance is improving but your flexibility isn’t. Have you been doing those stretches at home like I showed you?”

“Yes Sherlock,” Olivia grumbled.

“Liar,” he smirked.

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Jerk,” Olivia complained.

“Hey do you want to dance point?”

“Yes,” 

“Then work on the exercises.”

“Fine,” Olivia then caught sight of John. “John!”

The next thing he knew he was being attacked by a nine year old, “Hey, Olivia.”

“John, do you know Sherlock?” the little girl asked excitedly. “He’s a year bellow you but he’s really smart and good at ballet.”

“Hi,” John said as he was pulled in the direction of the other guy.

“Hey, you look like you have your hands full.” Sherlock laughed as he tried to tuck a runaway curl back into its place.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I’m John if you didn’t hear from Olivia.”

“I’m Sherlock,” the other boy said as he picked his duffle back up from the ground. “You’re Mike’s friend aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I kind of got dragged into picking this girl up.”

“She is a handful,” Sherlock smiled before explaining. “I help teach the younger kids in my spare time.”

John laughed. “Are you any good?”

“There is a show tomorrow is you want to find out,” Sherlock smirked as he handed John a flyer he had shoved in his bag.

“You know what? I’ll be there. I have nothing better to do.”

The next night John found himself in the theater with Mike Stamford as his wingman. “John, why are we here?”

“Manly reasons,” he joked.

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you when I think of some.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Mike said right before the lights dimmed and the curtains rose.

John honestly had no idea of the plot or who was which character. All he understood was that Sherlock was really good. As soon as the curtain went down and the lights brightened John went on a search for the boy. “Sherlock!” he shouted once he caught sight of the dark messy curls.

“John?” he looked surprised as he walked over to the other boy.

“Hey, um, you were really good,” John said as he shuffled around anxiously.

“Thanks,” Sherlock blushed. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t let you get away with being bad.”

“True, that would be careless.”

“Do you want to go get coffee or something?” John asked as he nervously scratched the back of his head.

“What about Mike?”

“Oh, he used to being ditched.”

“Then I would be glad to get a cup of coffee with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next you are either getting tattoofemlock or everyone is on drugs johnlock... if you would like to keep me from writing stupid things please send me prompts.


	5. Destroying Sherlock's Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a post-fall story that I posted on ff.net a long time ago as a much shorter fic about a year ago, since then I’ve taken it and flushed it out. I left it as the original title because I couldn’t come up with a better one. Please enjoy!

Freak. The Holmes siblings knew the word well. They knew how much it hurt to find that word written on a piece of paper or shouted at you from across a class room. But it hurt the most when it was a whisper that you just barely over heard. Veronica had fought the hardest against the word. She tried to deny everything that her brothers had left in their wake. Every day she had come home from school with a black eye or a fist shaped bruise somewhere. The only thing that changed when she grew up was that the fighting turned verbal, which didn’t get her in as much trouble. When she went to Oxford she found a roommate who didn’t mind her scars, her deductions, or her crazy brothers. Her name was Savannah. 

Savannah was American and her uncle was giving her a full ride because he just had way too much money. That was what she had said to her anyway. Veronica had deduced a different story. Her uncle was in the head of a drug circle in New York City and didn’t want his favorite niece to get caught up in everything. So he had paid off the admissions office in order to get her in and had prepaid for eight years of education for her, so she was safe no matter what happened. He hadn’t shared any of that with her, so Veronica wouldn’t either. She was a little more tactful than her brother. 

Her immediately older brother Sherlock and she were the closest. He would take the train to Oxford every few months and the two of them would go get tea at a local café. It was nice and pleasant, but as the years progressed the trips became less frequent and once he gained his blogger they became none existing. She didn’t mind too much, she followed John’s blog and emailed her eldest brother, Mycroft, from time to time to catch up on what was going on. She never had direct contact with him until almost two years had passed and she was in her fourth year at the college, she was getting a doctorate. It was then that he knocked on the door of the flat that Savannah and her shared. 

He was soaking wet and his eyes were red from tears as he stood in their doorway. “Oh Sherlock what happened?” She asked as she pulling her brother into the flat and set him in front of the fireplace.

“Moriarty,” was all he could get out before shuddering from the cold.

“Hold on, you need to get your wet clothes off before you can get any warmer, I’ll go look to see if I have anything that would fit you,” she babbled as before she went to her room to grab some clothes. She returned to see her flat mate pale and her brother talking at a million words a second. “Sherlock what did you say?”

“He talked about my uncle…” Savannah stammered. “About the drugs… he said you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because she had prospects of getting into bed with you and didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Sherlock explained. 

Veronica dropped the clothes she was carrying, “Sherlock. Just because you just went through hell doesn’t mean you can take it out on me and Savannah, if you want my help just shut up.”

“I doubt you even know what just happened,” he sneered.

“Do you really take me as that dumb? Sherlock you came to me, after years of no contact. Something serious must have happened, too serious to involve John. Although judging by the look on your face it did have to do with him and judging by the most recent news scandals involving you it also dealt with your reputation. In addition to that fact the entire internet thinks that you are dead. There for given what you said about Moriarty having to deal with it this is what I understand. You are supposed to be dead, the internet said it was the ‘suicide of the fake genius’ but we both know that that was Moriarty’s doing. Now is the matter of why did you jump. It has to do with John, yes? Yes, I think it does and you did it to protect him. So you ruined your whole reputation and died for John, interesting.”

“I forgot how similar to us you were,” Sherlock said shaking his head.

“So I’m right?”

“Yes.”

“Um excuse me,” Savannah said clearing her throat, “Confused flat mate over here. Does anyone care to explain?”

“About what?” Veronica asked.

“Well, first, for how long did you know about my uncle? Was that fucker right about you wanting to sleep with me? Oh, yeah, and what the fuck is going on?”

“I knew about your uncle since we moved in together, yes he was right but I respect you and never brought it up because I don’t think you swing that way given your constant being on dates with guys, and this is my brother Sherlock Holmes he is an asshole and he is going to die of pneumonia because apparently jumping off a hospital roof didn’t kill him.” She explained with her head in her hands so she didn’t notice Savannah walk over to where she was standing.

“Veronica Holmes you are a completely oblivious asshole,” she then wrapped her in a hug and kissed her square on the mouth, an action which was pared with similar feelings.

“I’m just going to go delete everything I just witnessed,” came a groan from in front of the fireplace.

“Oh grow up,” his sister said playfully as she tossed him the t shirt and sweat pants.

“These are mine,” Sherlock remarked. “When did you get these?”

“When you moved out you left them behind,” she shrugged.

“I’m not changing with you two in here,” he said pointedly. 

“Fine, we’ll go to the kitchen and talk,” Savannah suggested.

“I need to have words with John about how much he has improved your modesty, it’s impressive,” Veronica added as she followed the other to the kitchen door.

Only a few minutes passed before there was a knock on the door, “What am I going to do?” Sherlock asked as he walked into the kitchen and sat on the floor his attitude was of a person of a broken man.

“Well,” his sister sat down next to him as the other girl made tea. “Moriarty has a web of criminals correct?”

“Yes…”

“Well, if you got the spider, why don’t you hunt down the web?”

“I had been thinking along those lines, I just didn’t know if it was as good of an idea as I thought.”

“It’s a great idea, but you’re recognizable, you could lay low or…” she trailed off.

“Or what?”

“We could always bleach and cut your hair….”

“Do it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if it’ll mean I get to go back to London sooner, do it.”

In the morning a different man left the flat, he was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants with trainers and his hair was blonde and cut short. This wasn’t Sherlock Holmes any longer.


	6. Boobs And Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you lovely people! So this is a femtattoolock, yeah, confusing. The only reason that it’s femlock is because bras are annoying and get in the way of seeing tattoos. Also there is a part where Joan gets slashed and Sherlock has to stitch her back together, it’s not very descriptive. There also is minor character death. Don’t hurt me. P.S. blame my girlfriend for the title.

It was the hottest day of the past five years in London. Sherlock was running around the city, as usual, while Joan lay on the floor of the flat in a sports bra and cut off shorts with a box fan in the window. Around three in the afternoon she heard a slam of the door and footsteps up the stairs. “Hey, Sherlock,” she called back to the kitchen as she continued to type up the latest blog entry.

“Hey Joan,” said a rather cheerful version of her flat mate’s voice.

That sparked her interest enough for her to get up and walk over to where the other who was making tea. “Ice tea helps beat the heat,” she offered.

“Ice tea is for the weak,” Sherlock chuckled.

“So, who died that made you so happy?” Joan smiled taking a sip of her soda that had gone room temperature in the past few minutes.

“Oh, I just came back from the perplexing home with the copper beeches and I have a few ideas as to the goings on,” Sherlock started to babble while looking intently at her tea.

“Care to share?” she asked noting that Sherlock was avoiding looking at her.

“I want you to figure it out.”

“It’s too hot to think today,” she walked over to the fridge to see if the other would go out of her way not to look at her, she did. “Sherlock this needs to be cleaned out.”

“It really doesn’t,” she argued back with a little bit less vigor than normal.

Joan sighed and leaned against the counter, “Sherlock do I need to go put on a shirt?”

“No,” she said defensively, “Maybe.”

“You are such a child,” Joan grumbled as she headed up to her room to grab one of her tank tops. When she came back down Sherlock had moved to the sofa and had Joan’s laptop in her lap, “Better?”

“Yeah, hey I’m sorry. Just, your tattoos were distracting to my mental process,” she blushed a deep crimson.

“Wait, what? My tattoos hurt your mental process? Sherlock, you saw two medium sized tattoos, that shouldn’t be very distracting,” Joan said confused. “And give me my laptop back.”

“I’m confiscating it for your own good, really Joan there are better things to read on the internet. Yes your tattoos are distracting because it is part of you and I know they have a meaning because why wouldn’t they, you wouldn’t put something that wasn’t meaningful permanently on your body. Would you?”

“Well, no,” she said sitting down on the couch next to Sherlock.

“Could you tell me about them?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Buy me a drink first, darling,” Joan winked.

Sherlock groaned before standing up and slamming the door to her room behind her. 

A few weeks later some murderer they had been chasing gave her a pretty nasty cut. “Sherlock, get the first aid kit from the bathroom,” Joan sputtered as she collapsed in her chair by the fireplace.

“You should have gone to the hospital,” Sherlock yelled from the bathroom.

“They would just do the same thing I we can, but for money,” she said trying to pull her sweater off but her shoulder started to throb.

“Hey, I got you,” Sherlock comforted taking the hem of the sweater out of the others hands and pulled it up and over her head.

“You know how to sow right?”

“Yeah,” she said warily.

“Could you stitch me back together?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock put some alcohol on the gash before threading a needle and starting to stitch Joan. “Relax,” she said once she saw that Joan was clenching her hands so tightly that she was cutting her palm.

“That’s not the easiest thing to do.”

“Well then talk about something,” she suggested.

“Like what?”

“Tattoos…?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like to keep you guessing,” she smirked. “Which ones did you see?”

“The one over your bullet wound and half of the one on your side. There was that pesky sports bra in the way.” She said mindlessly as she tied of the string. 

“Thank you,” Joan muttered tiredly.

“Are you going to sleep there for the night?” Sherlock asked motioning to the chair.

“I think I might move to the sofa,” Joan smiled.

Sherlock picked up her violin and played for Joan till she slipped into sleep/.

On and off for the next few months Sherlock would bring the tattoos up and Joan would shrug the questions off and Sherlock would groan and storm off. It wasn’t until the winter that she got anywhere. Sherlock had gotten back to the flat to find Joan curled up in front of the fire with her computer and wrapped up in at least two blankets. “You okay?” she asked concerned.

“Yeah, um I’m okay,” she said wiping her eyes.

Sherlock dropped her bag on the couch, “I might only know a small amount about being human,” she said wrapping her arms around Joan. “But you don’t look okay.”

“I know,” she started to cry again.

“Sh,” she comforted. “What’s wrong?”

“Michelle Stamford is dead. She died of a heart attack earlier today. They didn’t get her to the hospital soon enough,” Joan sobbed. 

“Oh my god,” Sherlock held her closer. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Joan said wiping her eyes. “But come on, I want to show you something.” She pulled Sherlock up stairs and to her room where she pulled off her sweater. “When I came back to England my therapist suggested a coping mechanism if I was up to the pain,” she continued as she unbuttoned her shit. “He talked about how I could tattoo over my scar so that it would become something beautiful and not just a hurtful reminder.” She slipped her bra strap off of her left shoulder to show a black and white rose that curled it’s was around and behind her shoulder so that both the enter and the exit wounds were covered.

“It’s beautiful,” Sherlock mumbled as she traced over the flower.

Against her better instincts, Joan melted into the touch.

“What are the others?” she asked gently.

“The one on my side that you saw part of,” she said pointing to it. Sherlock moved to see it properly. “It’s the Royal Army Medical Crest; my father got me interested in army and my mother the medical field.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured tracing the tattoo in an attempt to memorize it. Her artist had done a brilliant job giving the black and white tattoos depth and intricacy.

“There’s more…” Joan said trailing off.

“Where?” she could only think of a few places that she could still be covering.

Joan undid her jeans and slid them down just enough so that Sherlock could see her hips and the eight little bullets that rested on them. Sherlock resisted the urge to touch them, she did understand some boundaries. Joan took a deep breath before explaining, “They are fore each person I knew that died in Afghan.”

She knew better than to ask.

“Most people that see them just think that it’s to remind me of my time in Afghan.”

“Most people are idiots,” she shrugged.

“I have one more,” she sighed as she pulled up her jeans and redid the button. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

“Who’s it for?” 

“You,” Joan said before she turned around to show Sherlock her back were, right above her bra strap, there was a medium sized scull.

“I,” was all Sherlock was able to get out.

“It was a few months after you left- I thought you were gone forever and it just hurt so much and I’m just so sorry I had to cope,” Joan kept babbling but Sherlock had tuned her out. Joan had given Sherlock a part of herself, but why? The obvious answer was that it was because she cared greatly about her. But why? Sherlock was an asshole; she knew that, she had always known that.

“Joan, come here,” Sherlock said as she grabbed the other’s waist and spun her around. “Why would I be upset? I left my best friend alone thinking I was dead and she dealt with it how she knew too. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Joan murmured into the other girl’s shoulder.

“Any time.”

Joan looked up into the other girl’s eyes and made up her mind right then and there. She tilted her head up and kissed Sherlock Holmes and the crazy think was, Sherlock kissed her back.


	7. Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a teen!lock in which Sherlock’s family moves so John helps Sherlock unpack and fluff happens. This started as a way for me to work through relationship insecurities and to put it into words for my girlfriend. So I guess this is sort of for her… Alexis, I love you a hella ton <3

John kicked off his shoes as he climbed into the bed, “Redbeard, come here, come here boy.” He said patting the blanket next to him trying to get his boyfriend’s dog to climb onto the bed next to him.

“Stop encouraging him,” Sherlock laughed as he climbed onto the bed next to John.

Redbeard climbed onto the bed at long last and started licking John’s face, “you love me don’t you, you’ll kiss me.”

Sherlock chuckled as he wrapped his arms around the blonde boy’s waist and rested his chin on John’s shoulder, “I do kiss you.”

“But you don’t kiss me in public like your wonderful dog here,” John said trying to give all of his attention to the dog.

Sherlock stared at Redbeard like he wanted him to evaporate. John turned around, sat up, and was distracted as Sherlock rubbed his eyes with his slender and pale hands. John grabbed the other boy’s wrist before leaning over and kissing him squared on the lips. Sherlock leaned back until their lips separated. John curled up into a ball, his brain was going a million miles an hour yelling at him about how stupid that was, anyone could have walked in, and anyway Sherlock leaned back, maybe he hadn’t liked it, maybe he hadn’t liked him, so many things ran around his head.

“John, John are you okay?” Sherlock said trying to pull John’s hands down from his face.

“I, no,” he said trying to bury his face into Sherlock’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re the genius, you figure it out.”

Sherlock gave it a little bit of thought before saying. “Oh, okay,” realization dawning on his face.

“What?”

“Come here,” he said pulling John into his lap.

“What are you,” John was cut off with a short kiss on his cheek as Sherlock began peppering him with kisses, “oh.” John was stunned for a few seconds before he caught on and started responding. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s waist and began kissing him back. After a few minutes Redbeard decided he wasn’t getting enough attention so he wormed his way between them.

“You’re a bully of a dog you know that,” John laughed as he scratched the old dogs head.

Sherlock leaned back on his pillows with a flop while huffing, “Cock block.”

John laughed, “He’s an acceptable one.”

Sherlock raised his hand and pointed at the roof, “no cock block is a good cock block.”

John smiled and leaned over the dog towards Sherlock. “He’s alright,” he said as he kissed the younger guy once more.

“Whatever you say,” Sherlock smiled as he kissed him back.

“Good.”

“You’re staying over tonight, right?” Sherlock asked as he ran his hand through John’s short hair.

“Um, yeah, that’s a most definite possibility.”

“Good,” Sherlock smirked as he climbed out from under John and went to the door.

“Where are you going?” John practically whimpered.

“Are you hungry?”

“A bit.”

“Good, I’ll be back,” he said as he left. He came back with two slices of pizza in his hand. “Here, you haven’t eaten since noon.”

“What time is it?” John asked with a mouth full of pizza.

“It’s around eight.”

The next few minutes passed in silence as they ate. Around half an hour later the two of them were sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed where John was helping Sherlock unpack the boxes that littered his new room in his family’s new house. “Sherlock, how do you have so much shit?”

“I have no idea. It just sort of happened,” the curly haired boy stated waving his hand gesturing at all the various boxes.

“Did you organize these in anyway?” John asked as he pulled shirts, papers, and his boyfriend’s skull all out of the same box.

“Yeah,” Sherlock chuckled. “These all go in my room.”

“Well that works,” John muttered “Oh my God, you still have these!” John exclaimed as he held up a pair of red underpants.

“I,” Sherlock blushed a deep red.

“I thought you had thrown them away…” John trailed off as he threw it onto to a pile of clothes they were creating.

“Well, I, why would I do that?” the curly haired guy asked.

“It was a gag gift. I mean I got you them because you seemed to have a thing for mine.”

Sherlock slid over the box he was digging through and climbed into John’s lap for a change. “I like them,” he whispered into John’s ear before nipping at it and kissing john’s chin and neck.

“Uh, really,” John stammered majorly distracted.

“Mhm,” Sherlock hummed in John’s mouth. “I could show you sometime how great they are.”

“Um, I, well,” John continued stammering.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered.”

“I totally am not,” he stated before glaring at the younger guy.

“So cute,” Sherlock hummed as he ran his hands under John’s shirt and started tracing patterns on the older boy’s chest.

John begun angrily messing with the buttons on the brunette’s shirt.

Sherlock hummed, “Do you want me to help you with that?”

“I can handle it,” John smiled as he slowly unbuttoned the other’s shirt, kissing his shoulder as he did.

“You’re taking really long,” Sherlock groaned.

“I know,” Sherlock could feel John smile against him.

“You are ridiculous.”

“I’ve been told.”

Sherlock finally got fed up and just took his own shirt off and then grabbed the hem off of John’s shirt and pulled it over his head. “There, now would you like to move this to a more comfortable spot?”

“If you close the door,” John countered.

Sherlock jumped up and closed his bedroom door while John got up and laid down onto Sherlock’s bed. The younger man walked over and straddled the blonde’s waist and began kissing his shoulder and chest. John closed his eyes and leaned his head back against a pillow as Sherlock told him. “I love you, you know?”

John smiled, “I do.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock hummed.

John chuckled, “I love you too.”

“Good.”


End file.
